


I gave you All

by thelastbarricade



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: In which I get really descriptive about brotherly pain, Silvertongue trickster blessed be thy name
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-10 06:58:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/783157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelastbarricade/pseuds/thelastbarricade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I have lost a brother, and gained an enemy.<br/>How is this fair?<br/>How is this trial?<br/>You’re all I’ve ever wanted,<br/>all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I gave you All

>   
> _I have lost a brother, and gained an enemy._  
>  _How is this fair?_  
>  _How is this trial?_  
>  _You’re all I’ve ever wanted,_  
>  __ **all**. 
> 
>  
> 
> \--  
> 

  
  The winding hallway panned out before Thor, stunted rays of golden light feathered in from the windowed rooms beyond the halls stone walled confines. As he strode down them, Mjolnir loosely in his grip, there was no hesitation in the blonde’s step. No disconcertion or doubt or regret in his wake. No pride or pity. No punishment lay in wait for the actions to be brought forth in the once God-turned-King. He should have been busying himself with other issues. Other concerns. The trial awaited him, awaited them both. Just two days. _Two_. The thought ripped a low growl from the Norse God, causing him to pause in mid-step.    
  
  No one else had faith in Thors’ cause. In his request upon he and Loki’s return to Asguard many had advised Thor against any further involvement, against trying to save a soul destined for self-destruction and exile. _Hard-headed oaf. Numb-skulled quim. Stubborn and stupid._ Loki himself would have spoken those names aloud should he had heard of his brothers faith in him, surely.  Of his brothers sole calling of the moment—his burden to bear. It had always, in short, been the younger boy. The now war-criminal-trickster-turned -prisoner with the serpent green hues and Cheshire grin: _that was Thors’ weakness_. The man who was still very much still just a wounded boy needing protection. Protection only a  _brother_  could provide. It sickened Thor to think that somehow he had failed. Somewhere along the lines he had simply not been enough. With Loki in lock down on the home front, all should have been over with, calmed; but Thor was at more of a conflict with himself than ever before. He had thought his brother dead. Thought his younger half lost, and in some way it had been easier. To not see your failures, see your mistakes and your undoing to be done—it had been…an ignorant bliss to the blonde. But like a ghost, very much so, Loki had returned. Captured, beaten, broken as he was, but very much alive he remained. Remained like some pent up diseased leper, hidden within the confines of his once home.  
  
  More responsibility, more burdens would fall upon our dear Asguardian King-to-be yet, however. It was clear in the Norse Gods appearance. He had lost a bit of his bulk personality-wise; his swaying ways, his poise of sorts. He remained quiet oddly, on most days, in dinner and in conversation. The rest of the Warriors had the courtesy to pay no mind, to follow their King with understanding and faith—but the toll it took had grown in the past weeks since Thors’ return. Faith was being questioned, doubted—and Thor knew he was walking a thin line for all. He couldn’t bring himself to care. There was a task at hand he needed to fulfill to right himself. To right Asguard as a whole.  In his mind he had let his brother fall to this shame, this sickness and insanity; Thor would have to lay him out before the court for his criminal war-crimes, let all that should be and  _will_  be simply…exist.  Thor could not simply give in like such. He was an Odinson. A warrior under all pretences of the name. He would fight—fight for the name whispered in the nights alongside laughter and musings as children. Fight for the name called out across training fields and slurred lovingly within merry drunken comedies.  _ **Loki**_. For Loki he would fight.   
  
  His boots clattered against the tile floors as his worn steps dragged along—heavy, burdened. Alone he had gone, down into the depths of the holding cells that existed deep within the Asguardian castle-like walls. Alone Thor had decided that not all was lost.  _Lost_.  _Misguided_. That is how he chose to think of his little brother. His responsibility. Alone he had thought.  Alone he had fought for the smaller male’s freedom. Alone he would forever be on his fight.  
  
  The blonde Norse God was clad in very little, considering the occasion. A simple vest, studded with a stainless steel Armadillo-reminiscent war-wear chain mail.  Grey. Dark. Cold.  Almost colourless was the Gods golden frame and demeanour. Even his glacier hues and luminescent locks had somehow faded in the days passed since. Thor turned toward a gold pleated frame. Cherry-wood graced the lining of the cell, vibrant and daring—fitting for such a prisoner. Prisoner. No, fitting—in fact—for his brother. A Prince. An heir.  _An Odinson_. Thor flicked his hand over the lock of the room, the lavish cage that held his other. The key at his throat was heavy in sudden. The God clenched his jaw, ripping the thin lanyard from his throat and unlatching the series of barriers holding him from the sight he longed to see.   
  
—  
  
  The room was encased to ensure that no amount of magic or trickery sustained within its walls could ever break free. A sad, sad sight in the face of Loki Lafeyson, to say the least. The muzzle on his rose tinted lips was far too tight, clenching his jaw in an unbreakable, painful hold. He had tasted the metallic tinges of blood here and there during his arrival. He longed to speak, to burn, insult and strike with the power of his elements. A muzzle. Infuriating, it was. Like a domesticated animal to be trained—subjugated—taught its place. On Midguard at least he could be revered, even in his hiding. Here he was caged. Here he was the enemy—the freak—the traitor and the disease on a Kingdoms perfection.  
  
  The raven haired Odinson arched his aching back at the foot of his bed, chains rattling on his connected wrists at the motion. The sound echoed out across the room, his cell, his prison. He refused to let himself enjoy any of the luxuries Thor had ordered to him. Refused to sleep on the silken sheets laid out for him. Refused to dress himself in anything other than his tattered green and gold war-wear.  
  
  This room, a damned extravagance, was insulting to the Jotun born sorcerer. He would have rather a traitors cell. A barred cage. The trickster gave his shackles a small shake, the ringing remaining always in his ears. He pulled at the rings, feeling the vibration against his ankles and against his chamber bed. Like a dog. Like a damned animal. A soft hiss broke through his lips, stinging with the friction the metal springs and guiding that held his mouth shut, gave.  The younger mans’ slender frame rippled, anger growing once more. He was not yet defeated. He refused to let himself remain at the hands of the All-Father and  _Thor_. A small smirk perked up on the Gods lips at the thought of his not-brother. The Would-be and should-be King exiled, brought back, and forgiven. Yes, Loki knew Thor would be King. After his trial, after the ashes cleared from the air and Loki’s name no longer burdened his families…Thor would take the title like he should have, leaving Loki like he’d always been—Second best. Never to be an equal.  
  
  A soft whirl of fresh air blew around the trickster and he sat down beside the towering end-board of his bed. The door of his ‘cell’ revealed a flicker of light, cut off by a towering form with hues so opposing to his own. Loki’s teeth ground tighter, more metal slipping in at the corners of his mouth, the younger Prince’s expression remained stoic.   
  
  His tongue shifted against his canines. How he longed to speak, to thank his dear not-brother for the visit—nearly three weeks into his confinement. Thor truly knew how to show his affection, did he not? But Loki had waited. He had known his other would come for him in the end, as always.   
  
—  
  
  Loki’s cypress greens flashed with a silver edge as he watched the blonde shut the door behind him, observing the soft ‘ _click_ ’ of the locks sliding back into their place.  _Smart boy_ , the trickster mused in his thoughts.  _Seems like the standing of our trust runs both ways, Thor_.  
  
  Thor slipped the key into the joint of his hip beneath his tight combat pant waistband. His eyes steadied themselves on the sight before him, no hesitance, no bracing. His steps were soft as he set Mjolnir down on the bedside before Loki, kneeling, examining. The smell of food met his sense, bitter and aged. He caught sight of the rotting plate and sighed. Loki was known for going weeks without food, pent up in the library or the study among his books, but his other looked ill now. Deathly so.  
  
  Loki’s sharp cheekbones had hallowed, near razors pent up beneath his porcelain flesh. The raven haired man before Thor looked up to him with darkening eyes, stains of purple and grey mottling his eyes in slight. _Weeks_. It had been weeks since their return. Thor had come late to his brothers side, he knew, and judging from the seething flickers in Loki’s glance, he did too. But there had been much to calm on the front…including his own mind. He could not have helped Loki then. He could barely help himself.  
  
  Thor slipped a finger along the curve of Loki’s jaw, causing the trickster to jerk back out of instinct.  
  
  “ **I mean you no harm, brother**.” Thor hushed him, trying to hide the pain in his rejection with a low growl. His voice was worn, expression even more so, much to the amusement of his other. The blonde ran the pad of his index over the soft metallic clutch that held the jaw confinement in place and pressed down.   
  
  Loki bit back a hiss at the pressure caused. A muffled curse flew from him at the sensation of the metal fixings biting into the corners of his mouth. The coils unravelled in agonizing slow, the pressure releasing him from its hold. His jaw pushed forward as the binding slipped from him. The Jotun sorcerer let his head lull back for a moment, licking the trickling blood from his lips as a rumbled laugh escaped his bruised lips; candy-apple red they were, even in the dim lighting.  
  
” **And I suppose that was your peace offering, Thor? A bit of freedom for the Jotun-freak, hmm?** ” Loki rose his shackled wrists up, stroking the bruising settling in on his cheeks. “ **If you were expecting my gratitude** ,” He continued, slender fingers rounding his chin. “ **I assure you, you will get none.** ” A smile played on the tricksters lips, small, almost innocent. His eyes flashed once more. Brightening.  
  
” **I do not expect that from you. Not after the weeks of confinement you-** ”  
  
“Ah, yes.  _Weeks_.” Loki straightened himself with a cough. “ **All the while the rest of the Kingdom and _you_ , may I remind, went about their ways; celebrating and cheering on the soon-to-be-Kings coming reign and his war criminal catch**.” There was no pause, no room for Thor to speak as Loki continued, chin tilting up, expression curious. “ **Surely this visit can not be consensual, not-brother?** ” A sneer ended his sentence as he lean back against the bed.  
  
  Thor stifled a recoil at his brothers words. Not-brother? It should have been expected, but that did not soften the blow the God of thunder felt in his chest. The restriction of his breath was small, but he knew visible all the more.


End file.
